


For Love is Heaven

by AKA_47



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKA_47/pseuds/AKA_47
Summary: When Victoria falls ill at Brocket Hall, she comes to Lord M with a proposal. It isn't the one he had expected; It asks so much more of him. Of both of them. Their journey will bring love and comfort, but it cannot come without a cost. To love against all odds is a daring and marvelous thing.





	1. And Said I That My Blood Was Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I'll leave it to others to maintain historical accuracy and/or write a reasonable turn of events in which beloved Lord M and Victoria express their love for each other. This is a bit of unrealistic, sappy, dramatic fiction that fulfills both my need for these two to be together, and my strange draw toward death and destruction. That being said, without giving too much away, no one is *really* going to die here, so I hope no one hates me too much.  
> The title comes from Walter Scott, "Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above: For love is heaven, and heaven is love."  
> Enjoy!

She was the ruler of the most powerful nation in the world. She commanded so many. Her will was law, and yet. Yet, this man, the only one she wished near her, had denied her and Victoria was left to wonder if she held any real power at all. Was she just a silly girl in a costume too big for her, playing dress up in a world she knew nothing about? If Elizabeth had asked it, could he have so easily dismissed her? She had known how to wield her influence. She had had companions, had known love. What man would have so easily thrown aside a proposal from the great Elizabeth? But Victoria? Victoria was nothing, no one. She was not great, but so dreadfully small, so inconsequential. They called her Mrs Melbourne, hurled it at her like mockery. It had always made her smile. Dear Lord M was her adviser yes, but so much more than that, surely. Now it felt like the joke it was always intended to be. She was the young monarch trotting after the older politician. He flirted and she fell. It was nothing, would never mean anything. Perhaps he had laughed at all the whispers too, finding humor in her folly.

Victoria’s hands shook as he held them and she cursed them. She could see him studying her, seeing her weakness, concluding that he was the cause. She felt her cheeks flush, pulling her hand away from his grasp.“To speak truthfully Lord Melbourne, I do not feel at all well.” 

“Ma’am?” She was sure that he had no idea what to suggest; that he ride back to Buckingham with her after the fool she has just made of herself? And when she had taken such pains to ensure her journey to Brocket Hall would go unnoticed? Perhaps he was about to suggest that she rest in his home, but that was equally impossible. 

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Melbourne,” she hated how her voice sounded, so broken, but she turned from him as confidently as she could manage on unsteady limbs. She hadn’t lied to him. Victoria felt ill. Her head swam and her vision blurred, it seemed her entire body was filled with an unpleasant hum. She didn’t dare stay with him though. She didn’t dare admit just how poorly she felt. She didn’t think she could stand his concern. He would have been solicitous and gentle, no matter what had just transpired between them. He would have been lovable. He would have broken her heart even more.

Turning her head just slightly Victoria saw from the corner of her eye that he had turned back to the rooks, and only then did she allow herself to pause. She pressed her palm hard against her breast, trying to calm the pounding of her chest, but when she opened her mouth to draw in a breath she found that she couldn’t, and with a quick gasp she crumpled to the dirt, senseless.

\----

William prided himself on being rather attuned to the Queen. He knew her moods and her desires, anticipated her wishes before she voiced them, her habits were almost his own at this point. He knew that she was infatuated of course, just as he knew it was his duty to push her away despite how it pained him. It was beyond mere custom, though that was a boundary he was all too aware of. It was his age, it was how jaded he had become over the years. The Queen was so young and vibrant. He would be a burden to her. He would leave her alone at too early an age, and she would carry the weight of that loss all her life, he knew. William was also keenly aware of how stubborn the Queen was. She wouldn’t listen to any of these reasons, even if he had the courage to voice them. She would convince herself (and then him. He had been so sure of his convictions in the past, but the Queen, she had a way of convincing him of anything) that they could overcome any obstacle, that whatever happiness they felt together would be worth any pain they might feel later. So he spoke in metaphor. He talked of rooks, tried to make her believe that he felt less than he did, that the thought of being with her had never crossed his mind.

It should have been harder to convince her. William’s affection for his monarch was obvious to everyone, except the Queen it seemed. His Queen Victoria. He stood true to what he had said of her, that she was every inch a queen. She thought that she needed him. She didn’t seem to have any clue that it was the other way around. Her hands had shaken in his and his stomach had dropped, further still as she walked away from him. But then she gasped, and though it was barely audible, carried to him on the air, he turned. 

“Your Majesty!” It may have been a whisper or a shout, he was not at all sure. His breath was stolen from him by the image of the Queen sprawled on the dirt path, her skirts ballooned around her. Afterword, he didn’t remember running, couldn’t recall how he got to her. He blinked and he was kneeling beside her, his thumb rubbing against her cheek unthinkingly, all convention erased. There was nothing conventional about this situation. Her eyes roamed restlessly behind their lids and she whimpered against his touch. William’s heart seized painfully. He tucked his free hand under her head, protecting it from the hard-packed earth. “You’re alright ma’am,” he assured her. “As soon as we’re inside I’ll call for the doctor.” He had no idea if she even heard him let alone could make sense of his words. He supposed they were as much to assuage his own fears as hers. 

Never had the grounds of his home seemed so large as when he contemplated the distance from the garden to the house. Yet he must get her inside. If it had been scandalous to touch her cheek it was even more unthinkable to take her into his arms, to let her head lay against his chest, but she sighed against his coat, as though (he thought, against his better judgement) she felt safe there, as though she knew that she belonged there. She certainly fit well enough in his arms, more dress than woman, he thought, but there was no doubt that he held something, someone, beyond precious. He walked as though he were handling porcelain, as though, well... as though he carried the Queen, and if the servants were surprised by the image of Lord Melbourne carrying an unconscious woman into Brocket Hall, they were paid well enough to disguise it.

\----

The doctor too was paid well enough not to ask exactly what the Queen of England was doing that far away from Buckingham Palace, visiting her Prime Minister alone in the evening, nor what had transpired between them to leave the Queen unconscious. William paced outside the bedroom, wearing a path into the carpet. He could hardly think...it made him sick to imagine that he might be the cause of her illness. Yet, he knew the Queen to be made of stronger stuff than that, didn’t he? 

It seemed an age before the door opened and the doctor came out, looking severe. “The Queen is asking for you,” he said, professionalism apparently not precluding an arched eyebrow. William did not appreciate the suggestion, ready as ever to defend the Queen’s honor, but he didn’t want to wait another minute to assure himself that she was in fact alright, so he bit back his reply and managed a simple thank you instead. He slipped into the room through the crack the doctor had left, entering as though into a tomb, but he breathed a little easier when he saw that the Queen was sitting up in the bed, pale and propped by pillows, but alive and whole. Had his heart beat the entire time he had waited? He wasn’t at all sure, but it was certainly making up for lost time now.

“Lord M,” she smiled, “you look grim.”

The corners of his mouth curved upward. “Do I ma’am? I can’t account for the cause.” He moved closer to her, kissing her proffered hand. For many it was a formality, something that was done in the presence of a sovereign. William supposed it might have been that way for him too, once. A lifetime ago. Now, alone in this room with the queen in his home, in a bed, no less, it felt shockingly intimate and he fought to keep his expression neutral as he met her eyes once more.

As though she had read his mind the queen waved her newly free hand at the room. “I apologize for receiving you like this Lord M, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“Think nothing of it, ma’am.”

“I cannot help it. I had already disturbed the peace of your home, and then to inconvenience you like this,” she waved away his objection before he could voice it, “do not speak of duty Lord Melbourne, I do not believe it is required in the constitution that the Prime Minister must spurn unwanted advances and house an indisposed queen all in one day.”

He gaped at her. Could she really think herself a burden to him? “With all due respect ma’am, I was not going to speak of duty. I was only going to say how glad I am that you are well.”

Color flooded the Queen’s cheeks. “I hardly know that I am. I feel quite overcome.”

William wanted to reach for her, to hold her as he did only a few hours earlier, but he could not. He had only words, only ever words that were less than half of what he truly wanted to confess. “If there’s anything I can do ma’am, you need only say it.”

“Ah,” she pushed herself further up against the pillows, wincing as she did. “There is a matter that I must discuss with you, Lord M. Only, I think it will be an uncomfortable one.”

William’s heart quickened, but he worked to keep his words light, “as opposed to our other conversations of late, ma’am?”

The Queen laughed, but it turned to a wheeze half way through, and she bent inward, hand coming bracingly to her stomach. He inched forward, hovering, anxious to help, but at a loss as to how. “Shall I call for--”

“No!” Red faced she turned to him, her eyes telling him just how much she meant the command. At length her coughing fit subsided and she settled back. “I have spoken quite enough with the doctor. It is you I wish to speak with now.”

“I’m at your service ma’am.” Always. Always at her service.

“Then I must first ask you for honesty, Lord M.”

He nodded. “You have it.”

“I believe--” she faltered, searching for the right words, “I believe that I heard you earlier, that you carried me to the house.” William felt his own cheeks color, but nodded all the same. “I only wonder if that is--if you did that for your queen….or for  _ me. _ ”

He could not bring himself to pretend that he didn’t understand her inquiry, not when he had promised her honesty. His words were just as slow coming as her own had been. “I cannot say that I thought much about my actions at all, ma’am.” her face fell, but he was not done. “To see you hurt…”  _ It was as though I was the one on the ground,  _ he wanted to say, but couldn’t. “To see you in that way, it knocked all sense of protocol from me. I only wanted to see  _ you  _ safe.” He had hoped that she would hear the emphasis he put on the word, and from her answering shy smile, she did.

“So, earlier when I came to you…” she ventured.

Why was she pursuing this line of questioning? It could only lead to more pain, for both of them. “Earlier I remembered protocol quite well, ma’am.”

Her smile widened. “At the expense of your happiness?”

“To ensure yours, ma’am,” he corrected. They were not speaking in metaphors any longer, and he felt them edge closer to dangerous territory.

“And if I had commanded you?” Her eyes glinted in challenge now, and he wondered at the sight of them. 

“I wish you wouldn’t ma’am.”

His answer was not a no and he knew it. So did she. 

“Please sit, Lord M.”

Honestly, he felt almost that he must, his heart pounded so. “If it’s all the same to you ma’am I--”

“Sit,” she said more forcefully. “I fear that I must shock you and I think it would be best if you were seated.”

Numbly William found himself reaching for a chair and flopping down into it. The Queen didn’t take her eyes from him as he did. 

“Dear Lord M, time and time again I have asked you to do more than I have a right to. I know that I am a young queen in need of much guidance and you have given that to me without complaint. You have given your time and your affection, and I do not think it should come as much of a surprise that I--I find myself loving you for it.”

“Your majesty, I must--” But he was at a loss as to what he must urge her to do, when his heart yearned for her to continue but his brain beg that she stop. She didn’t allow him the opportunity to go any further however, talking over his stammered objection.

“And now I must ask you to do more for me, more than is fair. I ask you to do this out of love for me, not as your queen, for duty will dictate that you act differently than I will ask of you. I plead that you base your decision on love for  _ me,  _ for Victoria, the woman who I have reason to hope you hold affection for.” Tears spilled from her crystal blue eyes, and he knew at once that this was not the proposal he had both hoped for and feared. He felt himself turn to ice, watching the path of the tears down her cheeks as though transfixed.

“You are not well.” It wasn’t a question and it did not sound as though it was his voice that spoke the words. 

The queen shook her head almost imperceptibly. “I am not at all well. I am dying.” 

William felt he was falling, falling into nothing, dislodged from his body, from the very Earth. Her confession had rent the world in two. They could not be true! He could not--he would not survive if they were true.  How long had she known? Not yet an hour, surely and yet she spoke so calmly, so resigned. He was sure he would never wrap his head around the notion, but the truth of it penetrated his defenses all the same. A world without his Queen.  _ His life without her.  _ Empty. Hollow. Worthless. Worse than before he had known her, because he  _ had  _ and she had brought such light and joy with her. Snatched away. It was a cruel joke. His insides felt like they had melted.

“No,” it was a croak.

The Queen let out a chuckle that morphed into a sob, “Yes. I have barely lived and yet I am to die. And so, Lord M, I must ask you to do something for me, perhaps the greatest thing you have yet done.” 

She reached for his hands and he took them, feeling that her small fingers latched around his were the anchors holding him to the world. “Anything.”

“I came here today with a proposal. The one I offer you now is not altogether different. I ask you to love me.”

“It is already done, ma’am,” he said thickly around the lump in his throat. The image of her wavered, veiled by unshed tears.

Her smile was tremulous. “Share what little of life I have left with me, not as a queen and her adviser, but as a husband and wife might.”  
William did not have the energy to be startled. He merely blinked at her, dislodging some of the tears from his eyes. 

“Run away with me. I do not want to spend my last days with Mama weeping and my conniving uncles. I do not want meetings with the privy council, and worries about the line of succession. If I go back to Buckingham they will fuss over a queen, not allow me to live my life. I do not want any of it...William...I want you, for however long is left to me. If you can forgive my selfishness,” she gripped his hands tighter, her resolve slipping, “if you can look past what is expected of you, I ask you simply to live your life with me.”

“Ma’am--” He had no notion of what he would say, only that she was waiting for him.

“Victoria, please.”

He knew that he should not, that his job was to wait until she was well enough to send her off to Buckingham Palace to attend to all of the matters that a dying sovereign with no heir necessarily warranted. He should be by her side only for that. It was his duty. He should leave. He should not have been in this room, not have listened to this speech, not be touching her hands as though they were his to touch. Her bottom lip trembled. He loved her more than his own life.

“Victoria,” the name was a prayer on his lips, “if you will have me, I will follow you anywhere.” 

William moved to perch instead at the edge of the bed, pulling her to him. Victoria,  _ his Victoria _ , sobbed against his shoulder.


	2. The Secret Sympathy

It was much easier than it had any right to be. To spirit the Queen away, to hold her close to him in the carriage, to let her head rest against his shoulder, to disappear for Scotland and not look back once at the Parliament building he had loved long ago. So many of his years invested in serving his country, in holding up the constitution. So many years fighting for what he believed in. But William was not at all sure that he believed in politics anymore. He did believe in Victoria. He would fight for her. She would be his cause. He longed to he prolong her life, or (and this next thought came reluctantly to him) if that was not to be, then he could make the time she had left better. It would be enough. It would _have_ to be enough.

Looking at her he was hard pressed to think of anything more worth one hundred percent of himself. No longer quite a queen, she lounged on the grass, the morning’s mist cresting her fan of brown hair like tiny, sparkling, diamonds. _Even the rain sees her majesty_ , he thought, daring to brush one of the droplets from her tresses. To be able to touch her, to spend his hours with her away from prying eyes, these were things he had heretofore only experienced in dreams. William felt as though they were characters in a novel rather than Lord Melbourne and Queen Victoria, like  two lovers destined for a better end than theirs. They might have been the only two people left in the world, dwarfed as they were by towering hills. The sky was a blanket of grey, the air crisp and strong, scented as though by his greenhouses. For her part, Victoria looked just as at ease by their little cottage as she had in the throne room. She was a marvel. To watch her embrace freedom, watch as she wondered at greenery that did not belong to Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park, it was a privilege. It made his soul soar just slightly more than it saddened him to think of the cloistered life she had been forced into.

Victoria peered at him over the novel she was reading, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You are far too pensive,” she admonished, touching a finger to his brow. “You should be admiring the beauty around you, William.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, “I am, I assure you.”

Victoria rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t quite keep the blush from her cheeks. “I’ll have you know that you’ve just interrupted Macbeth killing the king.” She laid the book down onto the grass, rolling onto her stomach, propped by her elbows.

“By all means return to your regicide,” but he cupped her face with his palm and Shakespeare remained, quite abandoned. She touched her lips to his, short, soft, impossibly precious.

She hummed as their lips parted, dipping her nose to brush along his collarbone. “How is it that we’ve lived so long without this?” she whispered, her words a breath against his skin.

His heart beat so loud to his own ears that he was almost embarrassed to have Victoria hear it, close as she was to his chest, but there was no use in concealing his feelings; not now, not anymore. In the weeks that had passed since the escape from Brocket Hall, time had been measured in heartbeats, in touches, in lingering looks. They spent every moment together, no longer bound by meaningless conventions of day and night, appropriate hours to be in each other’s company and those that were forbidden.

“Say this is not a game,” it was nearly a whimper and William strained to listen more closely, sure that he had heard wrongly. “When we began this I swore that it would not matter to me if this were only pretend.” She cast her eyes up to him, wide and pleading.

His stomach seemed to have abandoned him completely. To see the genuine concern in her gaze, to think that once again he had failed to convey how much she meant to him--that she was the only thing that meant anything at all to him now… Was his past so dark that his love for her could not shine through? Or worse yet, was hers? Had she been so denied love that she could not recognize it? The latter idea made him feel quite sick, and he pulled her tight to him, as if in protection against that terrible truth.

“How could it possibly be pretend when simply being with you brings me such unbridled joy? I have said that I love you and that is no lie. I love you as much as if we had said our vows before God. This is not pretend, Victoria, this is perhaps the most serious thing that I have ever committed to.”

He felt her stuttered breath as if it were his own. She shook and he could not hold her tight enough. He wanted to press the weight of his words into her skin, leave the impressions of them deep in herself, layers down.”Do not doubt, Darling. Do not doubt, _wife._ ”

With a surprised gasp, Victoria threw her weight against his chest, knocking him back onto the grass. William was afforded barely a second to blink in confusion before she had climbed on top of him so that their bodies lay flush against each other. She clutched at his face, nails scratching against skin. “I love you,” she said, though it did not sound like her voice at all. “I love you.”

He could hear the pain that dripped out with her words. He wanted their love to be sweet and gentle and untainted. It was not within his power. It was not in hers, she who was used to demanding control. His hands shot out to stay her wrists, to stop her assault against his face. “I know,” he whispered fiercely.  She struggled against his hold, but he held fast, rolling them so that he hovered above her.

“It hurts!” It was halfway to a scream, breaths coming so quick and fast that he lost count of the number of times her chest collided against his. Though his grip was firm he knew that he was not the reason for her pain, at least not physically.

“I know,” he said again. And he did. To finally have her in his arms, but know that he couldn’t keep her, to feel so much love that he felt his heart might burst, but know that all of that love would turn to despair...She wanted to fight. She wanted to keep him. Oh, God, he understood. But there were no words, so William captured her lips with his, more roughly than he ever thought he would dare. He kissed her until he felt her tears wetting his own cheeks, until she relaxed against him.

They laid for a few minutes in silence, the mist of the rain cooling them. “What was it like last time, with Caroline?” Her voice was hoarse.

What was it like to watch his wife die? Impossible, and yet this was worse still. William swallowed. “Difficult,” his finger charted a lazy path through her hair, a balm against his words, “at first, but I’d like to think that in the end it was...peaceful.”

Victoria gave a squeak of acknowledgement and he had to fight against the lump in his throat. “But let’s not talk of that now.” But Victoria was not satisfied.

“You loved her, though she hurt you.” It was not a question. She knew it to be the truth.  She knew _him_ after all. “I never wanted to hurt you, William. Forgive me?”

His smile trembled, but he held it all the same. “Completely.”

“Alright then,” she sounded lighter. He could almost hear her smile. How the emotions warred, the overwhelming happiness and despair, constantly battling for purchase in the soul. Always on a knife’s edge of both. “I think it’s time that I hear of your conquests, William.”

It took him so much by surprise that he choked and through streaming eyes he caught her self-satisfied expression. “Excuse me?”

Victoria lifted herself from his chest, settling herself on the grass, her back braced against his hip. “There were many rumors of my dear, sweet Lord M that I have to wonder at the truth of them.” She picked at a blade of grass, looking over her shoulder at him.

He cleared his throat. “No one could hold a candle to you,” he said, by way of non answer.

Victoria did laugh now, a high, clear sound that the wind carried away through the hills. “Such a pretty speech. One might almost mistake you for a politician.”

He leaned to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Even politicians have been known to tell the truth from time to time.”

“So, I have not...disappointed then?”

William felt his eyebrows shoot nearly to his hairline. Her brashness seeming to have reached its limit, Victoria was back to twisting the piece of grass between her fingers. He stilled them by covering them with his own. “Not in the least. Why, if I weren’t assured of the Queen’s impeccable reputation…” He couldn’t stop himself from adding the jest and she swatted his hand away playfully.

“I could have had companions had I wished it,” she assured him with mock haughtiness.

She was far too adorable for words. He worked to keep himself from laughing. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Good.” She retrieved _Macbeth_ and pressed it into his hands before resting her head in his lap. “Now, read to me.” Victoria let her eyes drift closed as he opened the book, as willing to follow her commands now as he had ever been.

 

\-----

If his days with Victoria were bliss, his nights with her were perfection. Just to lie beside her as she slept, to count her breaths, his hands memorizing her body, to see her sleepy smile at his touch. To drift off to dreams filled with her. It was a peace he had never known to wake with her face pressed to his shoulder, her arms wrapped around him, to be there for her first thoughts of the morning or to speak of their dreams in the semi-darkness of early morning. He could almost believe that they could go on forever in that way. He _did_ believe somehow, despite it all. What a beautiful lie to follow victim to, that the danger had passed, that love and sheer force of will had cured her. But peace had never been William’s constant companion, so he should have been prepared for their stream of lazy, perfect days and nights to end. But he’d let himself forget, until the screams that tore through his sleep, leaving him sweaty and shaking before he had even comprehended their source.

He was no stranger to nightmares, yet to wake in the room black as pitch, the whole shadowy world around him seeming to quake, with screams he now knew must be Victoria’s, it was hell on Earth. He reached blindly for her, but  her hand found his first, gripping it tight, palms slick and wet with--sweat? But no, as his eyes adjusted, he realized that something was very terribly wrong and he knew that he had Victoria’s blood clasped between their palms.

Victoria sat upright beside him in bed, free hand cupped to her nose, but blood seemed through her fingers and onto her nightdress all the same, dark as ruby. “It. Won’t. _Stop_!” Her words were muffled by her hand, but he heard the urgency in them all the same. She turned  to him with eyes wild and afraid. She started to cough, to gag, throat coated with her own blood, air blocked by her attempts to staunch the flow.

William’s heart dropped to his throat. He worked on instinct rather than thought. If it were not for that he was sure he would not have managed to act at all. “It’s alright, Darling,” he said, in a voice that rang of false calm. “Let me see.” He drew her hand gently away from face, horror struck at the blood that rushed out of her nose. William had seen his son have nosebleeds from time to time. He had never cared for George as well as he should have, he knew, just as he had never been the husband that he had sworn before God to be, but he had sat by George’s bedside and dabbed at the blood, wracking his brain for words of comfort. He remembered those moments now in a flash, but this was no small trickle, it was a veritable fountain. Beyond his powers to fix. It flowed into her slightly parted lips, down her chin. Victoria gagged violently, her body pitching forward as she wretched, blood and mucus spewing from her mouth. He fought the urge to recoil, not from disgust, but from fear, as he got to his knees, trying to steady her against him. She sobbed harder than ever, her body wracked with tremors.

George had cried too, sometimes, and he had died. How many times had William tried to wipe away Caroline’s tears, only to have them fall thick and fast? She had died as he watched. So many bodies piled up around him. He was never enough. He could never save them. It was foolish to think that this time would be any different. But Victoria was clutching him in desperation, and he was loathe if he would do nothing, if he would ever just stand by and watch her in pain.

William tugged his shirt over his head, balling it up and pressing it to her nose. “Shh, Darling,” he soothed, “I’ve got you.”

How quickly his white shirt was stained, how pale she looked, turning to a ghost, a corpse before him.   _No_ , she was alive. Her pulse beat frantically.  He could see the veins in her neck throbbing. William took a steadying breath, shifting his focus to her eyes, willing himself to get lost in her lovely blue orbs. Heaven. If there were such a place then surely it was contained in those eyes. How long had they grounded him? An anchor in storm tossed seas, his north star in an otherwise pitch black night. He was vaguely aware of the blood that dried on his skin, only dimly conscious of the fact that the dull grey pre-dawn light had begun to filter into the room. He measured time by her eyes, and it was only when they had calmed that he drew his shirt away from her nose, tossing it absently onto the floor beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria choked out. He followed her gaze to the blood on the blanket, to the vile concoction that she had thrown up. “I’m so sorry.” Her words were so small, so frightened.

What he wouldn’t give to lift the burden from her shoulders that held too much already.  “No, Love, it’s nothing.” He waved his hand at the mess. It could be cleaned. It would disappear, even if the memory of it was burned in his brain forever. She didn’t believe him, he could see it. She had convinced herself that she was a burden to him, and he would not have it. “Think nothing of it,” he said, more fiercely than he had intended.

“What’s happening to me?” She couldn’t seem to stop looking at the mess of the bed. William knew now what was happening, knew what he had been denying for too long. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t be one to confirm what she already knew. He wanted it to be a nightmare. He wanted so badly for her to wake him with a kiss. But he was a practical man. He knew that what he had been living was a dream, and that this was the beginning of the harsh reality, one he had lived before, but manifold. He didn’t know how he would survive this again.  He stood, coming to her side of the mattress.

Her whole body trembled, even under the heavy blankets. Victoria looked small and frail, her face ashen save where the trails of blood had tinted it pink, a cruel mockery of blush. William scooped her easily into his arms. She latched her arms around his neck.

“Sleep, my darling. This is all a bad dream.” She blinked up at him owlishly, too intelligent to believe his lie, too tired to refute him. He carried her to the sofa, laying her gently onto it, sweeping her hair from her eyes. “Sleep, and I will be here when you wake.” That, at least, was the truth, was something in his control. That she trusted, and exhaustion took over, leading her to slumber.

William was not so lucky. His happy illusion of a future with Victoria was well and duly shattered, its broken pieces as evident as the blood all around. In truth there was little he could do as she withered away. He could comfort her. He could ease her pain and stay by her bedside, could give himself completely over to her in a way that he hadn’t been able to do for Caroline, even for his own son. He would shower her with love, all the love he had left.

But what of him? When she was gone and he was but an empty husk of a man, what would he do? Who would comfort him? It was cruel, selfish to think of himself after the ordeal she had just gone through, but looking at her fast asleep he wondered what it would be like when she closed her eyes for the last time. Lord Melbourne was a lucky man. He had survived scandal and intrigue, had survived his cheating wife and his frail child. He had maneuvered a political career and had ended up in the pocket of the crown. That’s what they said of William Lamb. A lucky man. The truth of it was, he would trade lives with anyone, if he could live a long, and ordinary life with the woman he loved. He pressed a lingering kiss to her brow, knowing that would never be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. And Men Below, and Saints Above

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had a particularly stressful couple of weeks, but this was a nice little distraction. Hope you enjoy!

_After…_

Stormy eyes surveyed a grey sea with rocky, dark tendrils reaching out into the ocean. Perilous, bleak, majestic. It was a desolate beauty, like so much else in his life now. William listened as the water lapped at the shore, lost in a different day at this beach, a day that had begun with small, fine fingers closing over his gaze, the sweet voice of his love telling him to come and find her. A child’s game, one for endless halcyon days long gone, but one he felt he was still playing. He was still searching for Victoria. It seemed he always would. That day, that glorious, cold morning, he had chased her, breathless to the edge of the water, where she’d skimmed one stockinged foot across the sea. “It looks as if there are all manner of creatures in there, doesn’t it?” she’d asked, “Like one could fall in and be transformed into a mermaid.”

 

“A rather fierce one at that,” he’d agreed, as mesmerized by her movements as if she _were_ a siren who had drawn him in.

 

She’d laughed then, retreating from the water to press herself against his side. “I am incredibly ferocious.” She’d looked so small and frail next to him, thinner than he’d like, wrapped tight against the chill, but pale and shivering. She was too sick for an outing. Her temper and will though, were too strong to be denied.

 

“Wait just a moment,” he’d said in mock astonishment, “are you a mermaid, Darling?” He’d pretended to survey her, plucking at the hem of her gown as though to look for scales. She’d swatted his hand away, a brilliant smile playing across her lips.

 

Victoria had thrown her arms wide, encompassing the entire ocean before her. “I, Sir, am the queen of the mermaids, but I’ve left my fellows for love of a mortal man, and when I come back to them they will rejoice to have their sovereign returned.”

 

“And what man could deserve such a sacrifice?” He’d captured her still upturned palm, bringing it to his lips.

 

“Well,” she’d deliberated, now picking her way slowly and carefully onto one of the narrow strips of rock. William had followed, bracing her against the wind. “it was hardly a sacrifice, for I got to dance with him at grand balls.”

 

He’d kissed her shoulder blade through the fabric of her dress. “Did you? What else?” His lips at her neck.

 

“He would give me the most beautiful flowers, the likes of which no mermaid has ever seen.”

 

His hands at her waist. “Oh?”

 

“And he made me laugh. Mermaids do not usually laugh, you see, especially not their queens.” she’d turned her head then, her face the picture of perfect seriousness save the twinkle in her eye.

 

“What a somber life. It sounds very severe.”

 

Victoria had nodded. “It was. Until I laid eyes on that mortal man. Until he loved me. He saved me.”

 

His words had come slower then, more deliberate, “I believe you saved him.”

 

She’d leaned back into him. “Even if I drag you into the ocean after me?”  


And the corners of his mouth had twitched, “especially then.”

 

Now, William played that moment over and over in his memory, ceaselessly combing the water for signs that the mermaid queen had indeed returned to her people, that she had simply left the man she loved behind, and not left the world entirely. He wanted to believe in children’s games and children’s stories in a way that he never had before. He wanted to put his faith in pretend, because the truth was that this mortal man had no idea how to live without his otherworldly love.

 

\----

_Before…_

 

It began to snow, tiny flecks of ice that melted almost immediately after they touched the heat of their bodies. William glanced at Victoria, who was catching snow in her cupped hands. He wanted to suggest that they get back in the carriage, that he put her in front of a warm fire with a cup of tea and a pile of blankets, but he knew even as he thought it that she would refuse. She’d woken up feeling better than she had in days and had suggested a trip to the beach. More accurately, she had demanded it, and despite his better judgement, William was powerless to deny her. But she tired easily now, and he could see her shoulders slump in the fading light of day.

 

He put his arm around her, guiding her head down to his shoulder, and she let the icy snow fall from her hands, brushing her palms against her skirts. “Did you enjoy being a father, William?” she asked suddenly, her chilled fingers playing idly with his hair.

 

“I…” he paused, unsure of the answer. In truth, being a father was not what he had imagined it would be. Sometimes in his darkest moments, alone in his son’s room, he would imagine ending the child’s suffering, whether it be the strange and sudden illnesses that would seize him or else the sudden fits of temper that left him quite senseless. Alone with the weight of it all, Caroline having run off with Byron, William had let himself imagine what it might be like to live without the burden of his own child. And afterwards, when he would see the boy smile or remember the weight of the tiny baby drifting off to sleep in his arms, he would feel sick at his own dark, selfish wishes. In those moments of self-loathing he knew himself unfit to the challenge of fatherhood. When the daughter so nearly his had been snatched from him by the cruelty of fate he had thought it penance for the horrors of his mind. For William, being a father, like being a husband, had been a challenge. He was a fine politician, he even fancied himself a good Prime Minister, but he lacked in the basic tenants of being a man. The stress, the responsibility, the fear and failure he experienced of fatherhood had eaten away at him. His son, his daughter taken so early, had diminished some parts of him, left his soul wanting, but they had enriched him too. They had made him as keenly aware of the sadness of loss as they had the depth of love. And the understanding of that love, it meant something more than all of his political achievements combined. “I…did,” he said finally.

 

He felt her nod. “I wonder if you should have liked having more children, with me, after already having raised a son.” Her hand dropped automatically to the flat of her stomach, and he placed his own over it.

 

“It would have brought me great joy,” he assured her, tangling their fingers together.

 

“I am quite young yet. I think I would have enjoyed just our own company for a time, but I think I should have liked to be the mother of your children.”

 

William swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “And what would they be like, our children?”

 

“Handsome of course.” He heard the smile in her voice, “and intelligent.”

 

“No doubt,” he pulled her closer.

 

“You would be far too lenient with them, and I would scold you,” her voice lifted now, brightened by her daydream.

 

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you think of me? That I have no backbone?”

 

She giggled, biting her lip as she gazed up at him. “Not where our children are concerned. Particularly our little girl.”

 

“Tell me about her,” he whispered.

 

“Well, she’s quite precocious. She knows far too much of the world for her own good, and she knows her own mind.”

 

“Like her mother.”

 

She scoffed, “like her father as well. But when she smiles…she’s got an incredible smile, all dimpled cheeks and flashing teeth. That’s what undoes you. You find it quite hard to tell her no when she bats her eyelashes at you.”

 

William smiled, “Ah, well, of course, if she is as charming as you describe then I am quite disarmed.”

 

“Our son is quieter. With a head full of curls. He’s got my mouth and nose, but your eyes. He’s inquisitive, thirsty to learn. He is always in trouble for reading past dark. He loves his sister and they are never lonely.”

 

He knew then that she was remedying her own solitary childhood, creating a world for her own children that would correct the faults of her own. “What else?” he urged her quietly, for she had gone quiet, lost in her own thoughts.

 

“Above all they would always know love. And they would be free to make their own choices.” She shivered against him and he drew her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

 

“They would be free to marry beneath them, you mean?” His jest earned him a jab to his ribs.

 

“As long as they’re _free._ ”

 

“If they were anything like you, Darling, there would be no stopping them.”

 

“Although I do hope they would have your height.”

 

She stretched then, getting to her feet and putting out her hand. “I think it’s time to go home,” and though William was sad to leave their imaginings behind, he knew that he would rather have a moment of fantasy with Victoria than reality with anyone else.

 

\----

“Darling!”

 

Victoria writhed on the bench of the carriage, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her face gleamed with sweat despite the cold evening air, her breathing heavy, and with each bump in the road she let out an agonized moan that shook William to his core.

 

“Faster, damn you!” He called to the heavens more so than the actual driver. For what could be done at the cottage to ease her pain? Her eyes flashed open, unseeing, rolling restlessly this way and that, unable to settle.

 

He held her face, hovering above her, trying to make her see him. “I’m here. I’m right here with you,” but his words were drowned out even to his own ears by her wracking cough that sent her jolting sideways with the force of it, so much so that she almost tumbled to the floor. He held her in place as gently as he could, but she thrashed against him, as though desperate to escape.

 

All William could do was watch in horror as the blood filled her mouth, staining her lips, her teeth, choking her. She gasped against it, drawing in sharp, ragged breaths, that only seemed to make her curl further into herself.

 

She seemed beyond tears, but as the moments of her agony stretched on, he found that he was not. “Victoria, you cannot leave me. I am not ready. You cannot leave me, my darling. I need you.”

 

William gripped her hand, half crazed with the need to hold her, to talk to her, to hear her voice. “Our children,” he began, swallowing hard. He needed to be anywhere but here. He needed to be with her, with their family. “Our children love it when you tell them stories, fanciful tales, of the kind your mother never allowed you to read. Once our son hid from us in a game and we couldn’t find him for half the day. You were so worried, but then he crawled out from a cupboard in time for tea because he was hungry. You must have held him for an hour. The tea had gone quite cold by the end.” He wiped at falling tears with the back of his free hand, grasping wildly for a new “memory” to relay to her.

 

“Our daughter is always jumping into puddles and getting mud on her dresses. She comes into the house with dirt on her nose and I can’t help but laugh. You, at least, are marginally better at hiding your amusement. You always have to be the one to scold her and tell her to wash, for I only chuckle at the sight of her.”

 

“They love you, my darling. They run to you when you enter a room. You are a wonderful mother. You are a wonderful wife. We would be lost without you. _I_ would be lost without you.”

 

He brushed his lips across her feverish cheek, relief washing over him when her breathing eased a bit. “Tell me,” she rasped, in a voice he could barely hear over the trundle of the carriage, “tell me more.”

 

“Yes,” he breathed, “of course, Darling,” and with a shaking breath he continued to weave tales of their family, imaging a life free of fear and pain, filled instead with love, peace, and happiness. It wasn’t much, but it was a glimmer of light in the darkness.

 


	4. And Heaven is Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I don't know what I'm going to do now, but I've finished. I hope it's a satisfying ending for everyone. Enjoy!

William dreamt of a little girl, squealing as she ran through a field of horses, ducking and weaving around the disinterested beasts, clearly so used to her antics that they could continue their grazing without the slightest concern. She glanced behind her, throwing him a smile so wide that her entire face lit up with it. “Follow me, Papa,” she called.  
He heard himself say, “I’m trying, Marie,” with a good-natured chuckle at his daughter. How marvelous she was, wild and free, small and yet completely at ease in the wide world around her. Much slower than his younger counterpart, he walked through the field, patting the horses on his way, deliberately taking his time so that he could watch the growing impatience on her especially expressive face.

Clearly at the end of her tether, Marie marched over to him. “Papa, you were supposed to chase me.”

He crouched so that he was at eye level with her. “Was I? And to what end?”

Marie sighed at his ignorance. “It’s a game.” 

“How silly of you, William.” 

He turned to see Victoria striding toward them, Edward trotting behind her, his nose buried in a book that, judging from the size of it, was far more advanced than his age warranted. She looked healthy, glowing, and euphoric in the simplicity of the morning. She touched her lips to his cheek briefly, as though it were a fact of life, an action she would repeat for the rest of her days. “I recall chasing you from time to time,” he whispered in her ear as she moved away. She put her finger to her lips and he reached down to ruffle his son’s dark curls. Edward grinned up at his father before dodging out of the way of the friendly assault. 

“You must play, Mama,” Marie said, all the while standing on her tip toes to peer at the pages of the book Edward was reading. 

Victoria clapped her hands together. “I have an idea,” she announced. “We’ll all play hide and seek. Edward, do you think that you can leave your dear friends long enough for a game with us?” 

The young boy snapped his book shut definitively, pausing only to lay it with reverence atop the grass. “Papa should find us.”

Victoria touched a finger to Edward’s nose, and he scrunched his face up in mock disapproval. “I think that’s a wonderful idea! Marie, you and your brother go and hide, and I will ensure that your father doesn’t cheat.” The children whirled away, shrieking with glee, and Victoria watched them go for a moment before cupping a hand to William’s eyes.

“Do I get a prize if I win?” He asked, smirking.

He heard Victoria hum in thought. “Find us and you shall have a kiss. Is that sufficient?”  
He could feel her breath on his face, so he leaned forward, his mouth finding hers, and he claimed his prize early. “It is the only thing worth winning for,” he said as their lips parted.  
Victoria laughed. “Close your eyes, my love. I will be waiting for you.” Her fingers lingered briefly on his chest, and then she had disappeared, the weight of her hand replaced by just the darkness of his closed eyelids. 

\----  
He’d fallen asleep at his desk on top of half-finished letters. The candles had burned down to almost nothing and he could just make out the smears of ink on his fingers. William groaned. He could still feel the morning sun on his skin, Edward’s curls soft under his palm, the brush of Victoria’s lips as they met his. His eyes stung as though he might cry for the loss of it. He rubbed his eyes to banish the happy image that was not a memory, could never be a memory.

“William?” 

He startled, nearly knocking over some of the more precariously perched papers in his surprise. Victoria leaned against the doorway in her shift, barely more than a wisp of a girl, her whole body spoke of constant pain now; stooped, the bones of her face sharp and piercing. He tried to smile, but wasn’t sure that he had succeeded in anything more than a grimace. “What are you doing up, Darling? You should be resting.”

“It seems it’s you who should be resting.”

He moved to her, reaching to take her waist and lead her back to bed, but she shrugged away. “You said that you would stop this.” Her eyes sparked with anger.

“I wasn’t--”

Victoria huffed in disbelief, staggering away from him. “Do not lie to me. Do not patronize me.” She stumbled and he caught her elbow, righting her.

“All right,” he admitted, “It was wrong of me to be dishonest. I only thought to try a few more doctors. If there are options, Victoria--”

She wrenched her elbow away. “There are no options! We knew that when we began this. You swore to me you wouldn’t waste what little time we have together in these silly attempts to prolong the inevitable.”

“ _Prolong _is exactly the word!” He felt his own temper rising and found he could not check it. “You’re acting like it’s wrong of me to want more time with you. You sound as though you’re quite content to leave me here.”__

Victoria gaped at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, and William knew that he had said too much. “I didn’t mean…”

“Content?” Her mouth formed the word as though it were foreign to her, “content to leave you, content to die? You believe that this a choice I am making, to allow my heart’s happiness to end, to hurt you, when the very knowledge that I am doing so threatens to rip my soul apart? I lie awake at night fearing the end not because of what will happen to me, but because of what I fear for you, who I love more than my own self, and you dare to presume that I feel nothing about what little time is left to us?” 

Tears cascaded down her cheeks. William reached for her, but could not bring himself to touch her. He watched as she backed slowly onto the mattress. Her knees gave way and she sank into it, her chest heaving. 

“It was thoughtless,” he said, his mouth dry. “It was a egotistic thing to say. I cannot pretend that I have not been selfish in this, Victoria, but it’s only because the love I feel for you is so immense that I feel sometimes that the loss of you will end me.”

The shadows of the room only heightened the hollows of her cheeks, the ghostliness of her skin. In the dying candlelight of the nearby room he could just make out the cracks of her beautiful bowed lips, the creases filled with blood. He watched her eyelids flutter at his words, like they exhausted her. His heart seized as it always did now when she was near sleep, fearing that when she closed her eyes this time, it would be the last he would see of her dazzling blue orbs. From the moment he first saw her, William had thought Victoria gorgeous. It crossed his mind briefly that for most men she would not fit that descriptor any longer. And yet, as he gazed at her in the near darkness he could think of nothing and no one more beautiful. 

Beautiful and dying. It was intolerable. He had believed himself resigned to their fate, that he could keep his promise to stay quietly by her side as she waited for the end, but he couldn’t. It was asking too much of him. He was no saint. How many trials did she expect him to endure before his soul shriveled and died?

“Let me write to them, Victoria,” he begged. “Let me see if they have anything they can do. I would give everything I own for one extra minute with you.”

She bit her lip and William got to his knees before her, ready to grovel, to prostrate himself before her mercy. Tentatively he took her face in his hands. She let out a tiny sob, but did not pull away. He dared to speak. “I cannot think—I’ve been dreaming just now of our life, of the children that you described for us. I’ve let it take hold of me. It’s a need akin to pain to be with you, my darling.” He knew that his hands were trembling, but he could only hold her tighter between them. “I cannot be without you. I don’t know how. You are the key to my breath, to my heart, and much as I’ve tried to prepare myself…” he shook his head at the impossibility of it. “Don’t make me give up hope.”

She’d gone rigid during his speech, and her words came slowly now, forcefully. “I see them too. And I long for them. I long for you. But I will not allow you to do this.” She spoke as a queen now, and he knew that he had lost. Stunned, he let his hands drop to his sides.

“I see.”

“I don’t want to fight, but I will not spend my last days with doctors prodding me when I could be with you.”

“I wouldn’t leave your side,” he protested.

She traced his frown with her finger. “I know you wouldn’t, but I need the last face I see to be yours and not some crusty old man with a knife. Just you and me—promise.”

William buried his head in her lap, gripping her sides tighter than he probably should have. She brushed his hair back. “Shh. I’m here now. We have each other. I love you.”

His whole body shook. His hands traveled up her back, touching each notch of her spine, memorizing the feel of her body. “It makes me so furious that I can barely breathe.” He kissed the hollow of her throat, running his nose along it. Victoria wrapped her legs around him, leaning into his body as though they could become one person, one knot of pain and love to share their burdens.

“I know, my love,” she breathed. 

“If I let go of you now, I’ll come apart.”

“I know. Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go.” 

He could feel her tears on his skin, no longer sure where she ended and he began. “I promise,” he said.

\----  
Victoria wheezed again, a great, rattling beast of a noise that seemed to emanate from the very depth of her soul. Her body trembled, and William held her closer against him, hoping to provide her some comfort.

“There’s nothing to fear, Darling,” he lied, stroking her fevered skin with the backs of his fingers. Blood caked under his nails, stained the sheets, her shift. It matted her hair. It surrounded him, though he barely saw it. The world had narrowed to their two bodies, her breaths and heartbeats, and always, always, her lovely eyes. The terror he had felt at waking to the screams, the blood, the terrible tremors of her body, had subsided as her limbs stilled and her screams quieted, though the relative silence was altogether more terrifying. William felt sure that no doctor would have allowed him to lay beside her in this moment, and he was suddenly very glad that none had been called. Her eyes were locked on his. Neither of them seemed to even blink, terrified to miss just one second of each other.

He kissed her forehead. “I love you with every ounce of my being, _my Victoria _.”__

Her lips quivered but no sound came out save the desperate gasping of her lungs.

“We love each other. I know,” he assured her, astonished that he had breath enough for words at all. He should not have sounded so calm, by any rights when inside he was shattered. It was the end. There would be no more bouts of pain followed by exhaustion, a rally of energy and another relapse. This was different, and they both felt it. It charged the air around them, and whether seconds or hours ticked by, neither was sure. 

How many days had they had together? How many times had he gotten to see her smile, or laugh, or simply lay in the grass and soak up the sun? How many hours of conversation or companionable silence? How many times had he kissed her? William felt that these were the questions by which he would sum up his life. At the end of his time on this Earth, the only thing that would matter was his time with Victoria. Everything that was of any consequence he held in his arms. How foolish that he had spent any time in his life searching for anything else.

“I will be fine, Darling,” he lied again, knowing that the falsehood would bring her comfort. “Please don’t worry for me. I will have the rooks and my writing, and plenty to read. I will keep the greenhouses flourishing for you. Every flower that grows will be yours, Victoria, for you and because of you.”

He could have sworn that he saw he mouth twitch as though to smile, but in the next second he was sure it must have been a trick of the light. “And I will think of you always. Everything I do will be to please you, my darling, though I’m sure I will have occasion to disappoint.”

Shallow breaths now, ragged and uneven, her lungs desperate for relief that would never come. William felt his body traitorous for breathing so effortlessly, when he longed to give her all the breath in his body. Victoria’s grip on his hand tightened, despite the weakness of her limbs. She was using all of her strength to hold him, he was using all of his to stay strong for her. Her gaze told him that she was leaving him, far away and clouded. Could she even see how hard he fought to keep from crying out? He hoped not. He saw that she was dying, and all he could do was continue to stroke her skin as though coaxing her to sleep. 

He had only one prayer left, only one that seemed to matter. _“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” _He hadn’t told her often enough. It would not have been enough even if he had spent every moment of their days reminding her. _I love you, don’t leave me _, he thought, but didn’t say. _I love you and I need you to stay. _Wasted, useless words that he couldn’t burden her with, not now. It was only those three words that mattered now, in the end, and as they poured out of him in one ceaseless stream of air, he watched her eyes clear a little, soaking up every syllable.______

Her body shuddered, and she gave a sharp gasp. Those eyes which had just been taking in his love, widened just slightly, and with a startling suddenness, she died, surrounded by his feverish declarations. _“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” ___

He repeated them reflexively even after her heart ceased, though he knew his own heart must have stopped with hers. He did not stop as the darkness outside lightened to a new day that she would never see. He couldn’t even bring himself to quiet as she grew cold against him. He said it as he was choked by tears that turned to sobs, shouted it to the quiet, unfeeling room, whispered it between kisses to her chilled lips. 

And then the world stilled. There was only the sound of his own breaths, his own tears may have fallen onto her body, but Victoria couldn’t be troubled by them anymore, couldn’t be troubled by anything anymore. He could scream his love as loudly as humanly possible. He could plead and hope and dream, but she would never again kiss him, or hold his hand, or tease him, or even command him again. It was her silence and the knowledge that it would be forever that stopped his words. He let go of her, closing her eyelids gently over her blue orbs, still wide with the suddenness of death. William buried his head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp with a pain he couldn’t bring himself to feel. Victoria’s body may have been right beside him, but she was gone and he was completely alone.

\----

_“For Love is Heaven and Heaven is Love.” _The rough-hewn words carved into the headstone were not the marble effigy that a queen of England deserved. There was no grand procession, no national mourning. They were simple, from a poem she would sometimes read to him, her voice always making those words sound like they belonged to him and him alone. Such a simple burial place for an extraordinary woman, and yet as he looked out at the endless expanse of sky, at towering hills as far as the eye could see, at the boundless world around where she rested, he knew that she would think it perfect.__

In his dreams, she visited him, always free from burdens, laughing and joyful. She taught Marie to play the piano, she hummed a lullaby to Edward as he drifted to sleep, she smudged ink onto his face, running gleefully from his feigned fury. They had a life together in his dreams and if he woke with a heavy heart it was worth every bit of pain to see her smile. It was not real, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t true. 

Sometimes he imagined that she had not come to Brocket Hall that fateful day, that she had never come to find him in the rookery. He imagined that she had remained at Buckingham, distant and unreachable as the Queen should have been to him. He imagined that she hadn’t been ill and had never dared to love him. He should have wished it, for it meant she would have lived and that he could have been back at home now, unburdened, but he could not bring himself to. He had been hers and she his, for however short a time, and that love meant everything. That is what the epitaph meant to him, the enormity of his love for her, the endlessness of it, beyond his last breath, beyond the Earth, beyond all he had ever known or could no. 

And if his headstone one day simply read, _“The Man Who Loved Victoria” _then it would have been sufficient.__

__William pressed his lips briefly to her grave, remembering the number of times he had stooped to kiss her small hand in reverence. The gesture was not enough then to convey all that he felt, and it was not enough now, but he told himself, as he had in the past, that it would have to do. In his dreams he would hold her, knowing that they had all the time in the world._ _


End file.
